


Unholy

by reddaylight (Verocity)



Category: 2PM (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angels, Demons, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 16:58:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16044695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verocity/pseuds/reddaylight
Summary: "You and I might not be the best thing."Haven't Had Enough, Marianas Trench





	Unholy

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](https://unreal-2pm.livejournal.com/3376.html).
> 
> Prompt 1: "You and I might not be the best thing." Haven't Had Enough, Marianas Trench  
> Prompt 2: http://31.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m84f01VCV31r2s3eco6_1280.png  
> Prompt 3: Fantasy/Angels

There can be such a thing as accidentally using too much power. Chansung learned that the hard way last week.  
  
"He's south of the river," Junho tells him. His eyes are unfocused as he stares at the night sky, seeing much more than human eyes can ever hope to see. "Between Milano's and the new theater they built last year. Seems like he's looking for something to eat."  
  
That's what Chansung expects. That part of the city is riddled with murders and mutilations that has the police baffled. "Any chance we can catch up to him?" Chansung asks.  
  
There's a moment where he feels that everything is surreal: Junho standing beside him as if the week before didn't happen at all, as if he's forgiven Chansung for everything he did wrong. As if Junho has already forgotten that it was Chansung who-  
  
"He's only about fifteen minutes away by foot," Junho says. He blinks and he's back in this world, the eyes of his mind back on the ground, back on a level Chansung can relate to. "Of course, I could probably get to him faster if-"  
  
"No," Chansung interrupts. "Anything out of the ordinary would just alert him. And I don't want you going after him alone. He's too strong." Chansung straightens the scarf wrapped around Junho's neck. Wine red. Cashmere. Some things just never change – Junho still likes expensive things. "Too dangerous."  
  
"You underestimate me," Junho teases.  
  
"I never did." And that's true; he's known Junho since they were both orphaned by a madman who rampaged through their neighborhood and slit sleeping people's throats before turning his shaving razor on himself. Maybe sharing a gruesome past forged a bond stronger than casual friendship. Chansung has known the limits of Junho's strength ever since their first demon hunt. "But the two of us working together can take him down."  
  
Junho chuckles lightly. "The two of us working together can take down anything."  
  
And maybe that's true, too. The words certainly feel right.  
  
"I thought I'd never see you again," Chansung confesses.  
  
  
  
  
  
The city feels deserted.  
  
The two of them cross the harp bridge quietly. Chansung crouches against the chilling night wind, his hands in his coat pockets, breathing shallowly to avoid freezing his lungs. He'll never get used to the cold even if it comes every year.  
  
Junho, on the other hand, walks on unruffled, back straight and commanding as if the wind did something to offend him. His only concession to the cold is his tight grip on the collar of his jacket to keep the wind from chilling his neck. But it's all for show. Things that aren't alive don't feel the cold.  
  
Junho's hands are gloved but his sleeves ruffle every few steps and Chansung sees a sliver of Junho's wrist. Pale. Too pale even in the streetlight. Junho, Chansung thinks, reminds him of marble. A statue carved by a master sculptor. Michelangelo would have been proud.  
  
But then again, why manifest as anything less than perfect? Why manifest as anything less than the form that Chansung used to worship? Why not show himself in the same form that Chansung used to hold close in his arms when they shared a bed?  
  
Chansung clamps down on his thoughts. They aren't very proper given the circumstances.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Is he still-"  
  
"Still lurking," Junho answers right away. "He hasn't found dinner yet. And I don't sense anyone in his area at all. Or at least not anyone he'd be interested in, just a few junkies and we know he doesn't like those."  
  
"You've grown so much," Chansung teases and Junho laughs like it's the most ironic thing in the world.  
  
Their pace remains steady.  
  
The moon hides behind a cloud, but all that it does is remove the faint silver tint in the night. The streetlights are bright enough.  
  
"He's just around the corner," Junho says. Chansung hears the first hint of excitement in his voice, a deceptive shimmer over the throb of fear. Junho doesn't like being vulnerable.  
  
It doesn't matter how many years pass – some things just never change. The carver demon they hunted in an isolated train station. The avatar of spite they decapitated in a parking lot. The shaman Junho pushed over the cliff and into the sea seconds before it could gut Chansung open with its ritual knife. Each time, Junho had this excited grin on his face, this glimmer of life in his eyes that worried Chansung at first until he understood that it wasn't bloodlust or a penchant for violence. It wasn't even a thirst for revenge. For Junho, it's purely about the excitement.  
  
It was the same reason why Junho could get off only when Chansung's hands were gripping his throat, when Junho could barely breathe and the few breaths he could take came straight from Chansung's mouth.  
  
Junho slows his steps and leans against the corner of a used bookstore.  
  
"Ready?" Junho asks.  
  
Chansung can sense him now. That greasy smell in the air. That ringing silence in the night. That shiver in his veins as if his blood could feel the evil poisoning the atmosphere.  
  
A demon is loose in their city.  
  
Chansung nods. "Ready." Stalking could get them this close but any closer and the demon would feel them no matter how quietly they approach. He draws his hands from his pockets, the runes and prayers tattooed on his fist faintly glowing gold.  
  
The clouds part. Moonlight filters through.  
  
As one, Chansung and Junho turn the corner and sprint at the only figure in the street. The young man in a tracksuit startles to attention and faces them.  
  
"Hide," Junho whispers. The air around them shimmers violently, hiding them from any innocent eyes that may happen to be watching.  
  
A tendril of dark stretches from the demon's shadow, Chansung jumps left an instant before it spears him through the chest.  
  
"Careful," Junho cautions him. The demon's shadow attacks him but his eyes flash white and the dark dissolves before him.  
  
The demon's eyes widen in alarm. Chansung doesn't understand what it hisses; demonspeak is not meant to be heard by human ears, the language of hell is soaked too deeply in the eternal fires to be survived by flesh and blood... but Chansung is protected by higher powers. Still, it doesn't take a genius to recognize what the demon said as a curse, his eyes watching Junho in intense loathing. There is only one thing that can rile a demon this much.  
  
" _Angel._ "  
  
"You guessed right," Junho taunts. He raises his hand to the sky. The world around his hand rips apart as he pulls a flaming sword from the heavens. Pale moonlight reflects on Junho's holiness giving him wings of shimmering silver, incorporeal yet real at the same time.  
  
"And a human," Chansung growls. He attacks from the side. The demon is too focused on the angel before him to dodge, or maybe he's confident that no human power could harm him; either way, Chansung's fist hits and the demon grunts in pain before dissolving into a mass of flies and cockroaches and centipedes that crawl all over Chansung's skin.  
  
Junho spreads his wings wide. Chansung feels a blast of radiance slam into him, a feeling of consolation that seeps into his memories... seeps into a crack in Chansung's mind that's full of shame and regret. His skin begins to burn. The judgment of heaven is absolute. "Junho-"  
  
The angel folds his wings once more and the burning fades quickly. The insects fall to the ground, stunned.  
  
There's time to feel pain later. Chansung claps his hands together and uses both fists to punch the ground. A shockwave of magical energy travels away from him and crushes the fallen insects to powder.  
  
Junho approaches slowly. "In the name of the Father, show yourself," he commands.  
  
The ash rises to the air and collects itself back into the form of a young man sprawled on the street, but the demon is too wounded to fully manifest. It hisses something that Chansung doesn't comprehend, but magic knocks him off his feet and he crumples on the street. Junho narrows his eyes, quickly glances at Chansung for an instant, raises his flaming sword and swings down at the demon's head.  
  
White light flashes from the impact, so bright that Chansung shields his eyes to avoid going blind. By the time he feels safe enough to look, Junho is tightening the scarf around his neck and his wings are invisible once more. The sword is gone. The demon is nowhere to be felt.  
  
The silence rings. The air is clean.  
  
"That went well," Junho says. He goes to Chansung and pulls him to his feet. The enchantment around them fades and the rest of the world bleeds back into Chansung's mind. "He was stronger than I expected but still no match for us."  
  
Chansung takes a moment to steady his breathing. His hands are back to normal. The runes aren't glowing anymore. "And here I was, thinking angels are all about peace and prayer."  
  
Junho laughs at the naiveté. "Some angels are. But not me. Instead of praying and protecting the innocent, I prefer to find evil and smite it where it stands. And that demon was evil. That's why you were after him, right?"  
  
"True enough." Chansung thought he would have to fight that demon alone until Junho appeared beside him, much to Chansung's surprise. Because last week, Junho was– "What did he say?" Whatever it was, the way Junho looked at him after the demon's last words made Chansung sure that it was about him.  
  
"It's not important," Junho answers flippantly. "What matters is that he's been purged. He won't be harming anyone anymore. Let's celebrate?"  
  
Not all angels are pure. But all angels have to burn with passion.  
  
  
  
  
  
They find a barbeque tent that's just about to pack up for the night. The owner almost refuses them but Chansung's charming smile has always helped him get some lenience.  
  
"Not getting anything?" he asks after the owner sets only one bowl of spiced barbeque on their table.  
  
"I don't exactly need food anymore," Junho reminds him. Fair enough. Junho doesn't need to eat or drink or breathe after he ascended to holiness. After Chansung thought he'd never see him again.  
  
"The experience is worth having," Chansung says.  
  
Junho shakes his head. "I haven't been an angel long enough to manifest a sense of taste. This... existence is still new to me." Last week the police received an anonymous tip that led to the body of Lee Junho in his bed, strangled to death with no sign of resistance. No sign of a break in, either, which means that Lee Junho was killed by someone he willingly let into his apartment, someone he trusted to be with him in his bedroom.  
  
His scarf loosens briefly. Chansung catches a glimpse of dark bruising on Junho's neck before the latter can hide it once more.  
  
A manifestation of imperfection. Maybe some memories are remembered by the soul and persist beyond transcendence.  
  
Chansung eats his barbeque and silences the guilt burning through his chest.


End file.
